


In The Dog House

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blood and Injury, Chains, Collars, Imprisonment, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Promises, Restraints, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21692257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Geoffrey has a hard decision to make when he finds Jonathan's body in a house full of dead civilians drained of their blood. Something suspicious remains itching at the back of his mind and he refuses to believe what he sees as his guards collect the unconscious body of the doctor and take him back to Priwen for interrogation.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	In The Dog House

Flickers of red light flashed before his eyes, warm and wet sliding down his skin with a tantalizing pulse. The last vestige of life fading like a dying candle light. The fading mist of red wafted up into his nostrils like ascending wisps of smoke. The low growl that rumbled out of his throat was strangled by the cold pressure. Jonathan swallowed, feeling the tightness restrict the action, causing discomfort and the scant fear of suffocation. His eyes slowly opened, blinking into the darkness with confusion. His vision hidden even with the aid of his other senses. The soft touch of something against his skin alerted his groggy mind to a blindfold. The fabric was damp, the scent of copper tinging the edges as damp tracks clung to his cheeks.

A heavy weight sagged against his limbs as he attempted to move. The cold iron clasp of metal wrapped securely around his throat and rubbed raw stretches of skin against the dip of his wrists. A painful bite that screamed a lack of mercy on their presence. He felt sluggish, the wiles of time swept away to a darkness he couldn’t recall. The heavy heat that curled in the back of his skull ushered a cold chill of fear that curled painfully down his spine. He couldn’t remember how he got here. The last inkling of clear memories came to him as he crawled into his bed in the early dawn, letting a long night of rounds drag him into the comfort of his blankets. His head had barely touched the pillow as sleep stole him away to a dreamless near dead existence.

He swallowed again. Felt the metal clasp of a collar rub against his adam’s apple. The residual ache in his legs was the only sensation that stirred in his knees. The absence of feeling in his lower extremities told him he’d been positioned this way for some time. He tried to move his ankles but was met with the heavy numbness. He rolled his shoulders and felt the burning ache that pulled on his muscles. He was kneeling, that much he knew.

“Finally awake leech?” The rough drawl of the Irishman was a sharp sound that pierced his ears. Reid recoiled from the noise, his head ducking back defensively. His head swam with dizziness, the sharp twisting pain of muscles sang in his back and up his neck. The clasp of the collar pinched skin at the curve of his neck and drew a displeased hiss from his lips. He hadn’t even noticed McCullum’s presence. Every part of his body quaked as if he’d been tossed out of a raging storm and thrown across London like a ragdoll.

“Geoffrey?” His voice was a low rasp, throat dry as he attempted to swallow once more. His tongue slid across his lips to wet them, feeling tacky with old blood. The sharp metallic flavor pulled at his stomach and made him shudder with equal parts hunger and revulsion.

“Aye.” He answered but no other sound followed. If he strained with all his senses, he could barely hear the calm rise and fall of the hunter’s breath in his chest. Could just smell the hints of sweat and London rain that clung to him. The bitter bite of old whiskey and fresh blood that lapped at the fringes of his mind, beckoning him closer. It was a cruel calling that he couldn’t act on.

“Geoffrey.” Reid’s voice started, his throat closing up as he tried for another fruitless swallow to clear it. The collar was too tight, pressing against the dip of his throat and stirring the irrational panic that it would only tighten further and suffocate him. He couldn’t die from lack of breath, he knew that. It had happened before. A fearful discomfort that sent terror screaming through his mind as he fought and clawed for air he didn’t really need. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, tried to calm his thundering heart and relax. His voice twisted to something desperate and pained, strangled both by emotion and the blasted collar at his throat. He couldn’t see where the hunter was as he pleaded, his head tilted to listen, searching to pinpoint where he stood. “What is going on? Wha-what happened?”

There was silence, drawn out purposely as the hunter bided his time in answering. The panic that laced Reid’s voice broke again, disturbing the quiet as he pressed more firmly. “ _ Geoffrey _ !”

“ _ Calm down leech _ .” The words were sharp, bitten off with bitterness and malice curling into their syllables. Jonathan snapped back, flinching hard away from the words thrown his way. He pressed his lips into a thin line, the small tremble on the corner of his mouth belied the frantic swell of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Normally far more in control of himself, he would have squashed them, forcing them down into the dark little recesses of his mind and masked his pain with the carefully guarded smiles of politeness and etiquette but this whole ordeal rang too closely to that horrific day he woke in a pile of corpses and ended his beloved Mary’s life.

He sucked in another sharp breath, followed by a shorter more shallow one, focusing on breathing techniques learned back in medical school. They were meant to help patients suffering from respiratory problems or anxiety but he found a better use for them in his early years when the stress and expectations became too much and his efforts were turning fruitless.

“ _ Geoffrey please.”  _ He pleaded, a whisper that was far too brittle coming from the doctor’s lips.

It pained McCullum to see the good doctor like this. The iron clasps that held him in place were marked with holy runes and symbols strong enough to prevent even the most powerful Ekon from breaking free. The room was well lit, the orange glow cast deep shadows on the kneeling figure, accentuating the dips and hollows that carved out a classically handsome and charming face. The dark dirty slacks that clung to his hips were speckled in blood and torn at the ankles where something had snagged tham. The white long sleeve was far from its pristine color, dingy with grime and stained in large patches of dried blood along the sides and chest. Half the buttons were missing, torn free around the neck and breast area, exposing the white lines of older scars from his days of service.

His sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, tucked in place by the awkward bend the restraints put them in, hands carefully secured behind his back by the chains that linked through the floor where an anchor was placed. They slithered up along Jonathan’s back to link to the back of his collar, forcing him into the only comfortable position available. The room was sparsely decorated, with a table and chair on one side, a series of tools laid out on an adjacent metal cart. Papers were scattered across the tabletop where McCullum had been going over reports while he waited. His pen left abandoned when he noticed the first signs of life to come from the good doctor in almost two days.

He inspected the disheveled man, his carefully styled hair had fallen to the wayside of his face. The small attempts to clean him up when they brought him in and secured him in a Priwen interrogation room left little to be desired in his current state but McCullum didn’t have the luxury for it. He had scrubbed most of the blood off of him and combed the fallen locks out of his face before securing the blindfold over his eyes. It wasn’t exactly protocol but McCullum couldn’t bring himself to look upon the vampire knowing what he may see when those eyes open. He steeled himself for the moment, forced his heart to harden against the pleading words. Reminded himself that  _ leeches lie.  _ They manipulate and deceive. Carl had taught him that from an early age, to never trust their honeyed words. To ignore the call of their voice as it pulled your name into sweetly crafted syllables. He knew better. He had suffered through it once before with Ian, but never again. He will not let his judgement slip this time. He will do what is right. Priwen will prevail.

“Priwen has been tracking down a series of missing persons cases.” Geoffrey started, easing into the commanding tone that came so naturally when he wanted to hide from the world. He let it sink him down into that illusion of total control, easing the little whispers of doubt out of his thoughts. “My scouts caught wind of suspicious activity in an abandoned house down by the docks. When we arrived, we found a slaughterhouse. Every single missing person was present. Their throats ripped out. Their blood painted the walls and in the center of it all was you  _ leech. _ ”

Jonathan shook his head in refusal to believe this lie. He had heard of the cases, a few of his patients had gone missing among the many others and he had taken up an interest in trying to find them out of professional courtesy but also personal concern. He hadn’t caught many leads, just the fading whispers of rumors that always led back to the Sewer Dog even though he was well aware that said problem was long since dead. He’d ended it himself.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Jonathan blurted out, desperation woven through his words as he sucked in another sharp breath. His lips moved but sound didn’t follow as his thoughts raced through his mind, trying to make sense of this entire situation. His head reeled with confusion, feeling the same sinking sensation of surrealism as the day he awoke in that mass grave.  _ This is a nightmare.  _ His head shifted, he adjusted himself as if to make his thoughts known but the collar pulled tightly around his neck and he choked. A smoldering pain sharpened in his wrists, pulling a gasp from his lips. A bitten off curse met the open air.

“Geoffrey I beg of you! I didn’t hurt anyone!”

“You were covered in their blood Reid.” He countered. “It was on your lips.”

“I didn’t- I  _ couldn’t! _ ” He fought the accusation but his conviction was steadily falling apart. He wouldn’t hurt them. He hadn’t hurt anyone. Not since his poor Mary. Had he truly lost control? Become the very monster he had feared since the beginning?

“Save it leech.” McCullum barked sharply, earning silence as Reid slumped against the chains. He pulled in another gasp of air, a stifled noise that pained him. McCullum was uncertain if it really helped or not, or if it was the residual impulse left from his days as a human. An instinctive need for air that would do little to sustain him. It pulled at something at the back of his head that made the heavy weight weighing on his shoulders sink further into the pit of his stomach. He scowled, scrunching his face up in disgust as he finally stood from the chair and reached for the cart of tools. On it was a knife, the silvery gleam of the edge glanced back at him, an abstract reflection of his own weary ragged features stared in resignation.

In quick strides, he closed the distance between himself and Reid. His eyes searching the half hidden face for the bits of the man he had come to love over these last few months. The brilliant charismatic easy going doctor that made the long dull nights of patrolling more lively. The pleasant banter that slipped between them like old colleagues. The soft lips and softer smiles tossed his way in their brief parting until their next meeting beneath the moon’s broad grin. He wondered if that was all a masquerade. A carefully orchestrated lie, yet another act put on by the deceitful vampire that used them all like puppets in a play.

He pushed aside the stained white fabric of his shirt, exposing the expanse of pale skin beneath. His fingers lingered a little too longingly against his sternum, tracing the shallow dip of his collarbone. Jonathan shivered, pulling in a shuddering breath. The tension in his shoulders was almost  _ frightened  _ compared to the numerous times the hunter had done this in the shared silence of a hideout.

“Geoffrey.” Jonathan spoke softly, hesitantly. As if afraid of the man that loomed so dangerously over him. It made McCullum tense, the bitter burn of bile edged up his throat, fingers curling tightly around the handle of the knife until his knuckles were white. He shook away the thoughts that stilled his hand and pressed the blade tip to the pale skin. It dipped into it with a sickening amount of ease, red drops bubbled to the surface and glided down along the blade’s path as he cut along his sternum. Jonathan sucked in a sharp breath, a hiss of pain in his throat. His body pulled against the restraints, rocking back in a pained arch as he tried to get away from Geoffrey’s touch. His free hand gripped the vampire by the shoulder as he inspected the wound, drawing the blade away slowly.

In his head, he counted off the seconds as they lead to minutes. The wound bled and bled, tear trails of blood curling down his ribs to dip against his stomach, tracing the outline of shallow breaths that grew sticky against the open shirt. McCullum straightened up as five minutes passed and the wound started to clot but hadn’t quite yet healed.  _ That isn’t right. _

He opened his shirt further, inspecting the man for any older injuries still healing but found only the soft outlines of yellowing bruises. He pressed his palm against the splotches and watched Jonathan shudder. He pressed the tip of the blade against his shoulder and dug a small circular divot there, no bigger than his pinky nail. Once again, minutes passed and the blood only clotted slightly. The injury was slow to healing. The same way it would for a vampire that hadn’t fed properly in over a week. Or had expended all of its energy. 

That didn’t line up either. Jonathan had been unconscious since they found him in the early hours before dawn. He hadn’t had the time to burn himself out of so much blood. Over a dozen dead humans littered the floor around him, their bodies drained of blood so unless he was using it for something else, this didn’t make a lick of sense.

“Are you just going to torture me now?” The bitter vitriol of betrayal lanced through McCullum causing him to recoil back from the vampire. His eyes shot up to the man’s face, the features so familiar now twisted into something so foreign and unreal. His lips pulled back into a snarl, flashing the white fangs at the hunter that were usually so carefully guarded from view. He tilted his head, fighting the suffocating grip of the collar for some movement.

McCullum nearly dropped the knife as he took a step back. The deep growl that rolled from Reid’s chest was inhuman. His shoulders hunched as the man tried to curl in on himself protectively. His wrists pulled on the chains but they answered with searing pain as the holy marks retaliated to prevent Jonathan from using his Ekon powers. Geoffrey took a step back, returning the knife to the cart with a heavy sigh, his fingers tracing the edge of the cart as tired eyes inspected the bottles and vials that were neatly stacked for use. Holy water, essence of garlic, silver and orichalcum powder. Weapons and tools that would make even the strongest men whimper and furl in on themselves, brandished and prepared to deliver punishment on the unsuspecting vampire. Was he really going to use these on Jonathan?

The pain that clamped down on his chest was the echoing answer that he had been trying to deny since they walked into that god forsaken house. All of his men knew, the side long looks and hesitant stares as they searched the building and collected evidence. McCullum stood over Jonathan’s prone motionless body, unable to bring himself to move. A part of him hoped the man was already dead. That whatever had truly done this horrendous deed had slain the good doctor who walked in with good intentions, that Reid had tried to  _ help  _ and he would be free to burn London to the ground to seek retribution on the leech that had hurt the man he loved.

He tried. He lied to himself and made up every damnable excuse he could to try and answer the questions milling about his thoughts demanding to be acknowledged. His men avoided him as they gathered the unconscious Ekon and hurried back to headquarters before the first rays of sunlight could char the unprotected skin. It wouldn’t have bothered him were it any other beast in his clutches. He would have smiled gladly at their pain but not Jonathan. Not the good doctor who had only kind words for the hunter, even in the wake of scathing insults.

“I didn’t hurt them.” Jonathan’s words were a hoarse whisper as he shifted in the restraints. The pain that bubbled up beneath the surface was growing as he struggled against the runes. Geoffrey turned to face him with a raised brow, his expression hardening as he slipped into a combat stance watching the vampire warily. Jonathan looked exhausted, even without being able to see his eyes, he could tell. The slump of his shoulders, the absence of those carefully guarded walls and the slip up in his normally so prim and proper speech tore at him. He fought valiantly against the marks but it was futile as he was. The open wounds on his chest had started to close up, a slow progress that itched at McCullum’s mind.

He sighed, moving closer to Reid as the man coiled back away from his approach. His footsteps sounded eerily loud in his ears, a foreboding thump that drew tension like a thread pulled too tightly and beginning to fray. His gaze flickered to the blindfold, the dark material stained and damp along the edges of Reid’s cheeks. Bloody tears had pooled and seeped into the fabric startling him while he waited. McCullum had cleared them away when they spilled down his face, wiping them with a clean damp rag. He had tried to speak to Reid, had called his name a few times but the Ekon remained unresponsive. Was it mourning? Realization at what he had done? McCullum had many theories but no answers to confirm or deny any of them.

His fingers caught at the dark fabric, feeling the cool skin beneath his touch and relishing in it for a moment. His fingers lingered as he suppressed the curling doubt and fear that webbed inside of him and cast a silky net of sweet lies over his mind. He shook his head, watched as Jonathan drew in a shuddering breath before pulling the fabric away from his eyes. It gave with little resistance, leaving damp red tracks across his thumb and palm. McCullum inspected the closed lids beneath, stained red and swollen from the tears. The dark bags beneath his eyes from long nights of work and restless sleep were a familiar territory. His hand dropped to caress the side of Jonathan’s cheek, thumb sliding across the bruised cheekbone as he spoke firmly.

“Open your eyes Jonathan.” It was hard and firm, refusing to be ignored. The doctor’s jaw tensed against his palm drawing shut as lips pursed into a thin line. His eyes opened, blinking quickly against the bright light as they came to adjust. They were red on the edges, bloodshot from the welling of tears but not in the way that was normal for a bloodthirsty vampire. The relief that swept through Geoffrey was visible. The rigid posture and tension melting out of him as he very nearly buckled beneath the swell of his emotions. It was his turn to suck in a sharp breath, lowering himself to kneel before Jonathan as he caressed his face and gazed into those bright pale blue eyes. His attention jumped between the still healing wounds and the human color of his eyes, the pristine coloration that screamed  _ his Jonathan. _

“I needed to make sure.” McCullum murmured, his voice dropping lower in apology. “I needed to be sure about it. I couldn’t justify not knowing.” He recalled the promise Jonathan forced him to make. That should he ever cross the line and lose himself, Geoffrey would put him down. It was a promise he would keep for as long as he lived but it wasn’t one he relished in carrying out. He didn’t want that sort of responsibility. He didn’t want to be forced into the position of making that call but he refused to let anyone else do it. Jonathan was  _ his.  _

Geoffrey felt the weight as the doctor leaned into the ginger touch of his palm against his face, warm and calloused from years of hard work. His fingers splayed, brushing through his hair and sweeping the dark messy strands out of his face. Jonathan’s eyes fluttered softly as he nodded in understanding. “I know.” He assured softly.

“I’m going to find out what happened, I promise you.” Geoffrey murmured, pressing his lips against Jonathan’s forehead. The doctor nodded curtly, relishing the warmth and softness of his beloved. The secure hold that held him by his shoulders and stabilized him. His back twinged with the distant ache of strained muscles, causing him to wince. “But first, I’ll get O’Connor to come unlock you.”

Jonathan raised a brow at that. Geoffrey sighed. “My men didn’t want to leave me with the key knowing about us. They’re smart little bastards, I’ll give them that.” Jonathan snorted tiredly.


End file.
